The Apostrophe and Me

Yesterday morning my daughters Karina (14) and Katie (12) met me on my bed with a pile of grammar and vocabulary books to call my nieces in Texas for grammar class. We selected this "classroom" because the bedrooms are the only rooms in my house separate enough from family life to have the possibility of being temporarily quiet. My sons Tommy (10) and Jack (7) were supposed to be doing math, but I suspected they were actually researching the care and keeping of a pet scorpion, which had been Tommy's obsession ever since he woke up. As we worked our way through first our vocabulary book, 30 Days to a More Powerful Vocabulary, and then our grammar books, Our Mother Tongue by Nancy Wilson and Eats, Shoots and Leaves by Lynn Truss, my fifteen-month-old daughter Helena sat on my lap, whining every few minutes for a chance to play with the phone, paper, a pen, a book, or anything else I happened to be using at the moment. Her three-year-old brother Luke kept entering the room to ask, "Can I play Lego Star Wars with Tommy?" After I had said no nearly a dozen times, he started talking about pets. It wasn't until class was over that I discovered I had given the impression that we were buying a "fish that swims in the water" at the pet store right now. I'm not sure how I managed to discuss new vocabulary words, compound sentences, and the multitasking functions of the apostrophe with so many interruptions.

According to Lynn Truss, the "tractable" apostrophe happily complies with the strange assortment of functions we have given her, continually overworked and misunderstood. Today I feel like an apostrophe, a little curlicue that floats above a word, simultaneously being Karina's and Katie's and Tommy's and Jack's and Luke's and Helena's mother. At times like these it seems like the solution is to find a safe, soundproof area where Luke and Helena can play by themselves, ideally with a free nanny, while the rest of us get some real work done.
But then I remember:

• Luke proudly writing letters on the white board on Tuesday at Katie's piano lesson, making me guess what each one was before shouting out "right" or "wrong."
• Helena swaying in an infant dance while Tommy played "The Happy Farmer" at his cello lesson, her eye's meeting mine with a half smile.
• Luke selecting a white goldfish with orange spots and holding it carefully in the car on the way home after I asked myself, "Why not get a fish?" I couldn't come up with any good reasons.
• Helena using the piano keyboard as a ladder that enabled her to grab a pencil and scribble all over the music books while I helped her older brother practice, laughing right into my face every time I pulled her down.

Since I don't have spaces in my life when I am not otherwise occupied, these circles of interaction always occur in the middle of something, bringing me a moment of joy and peace in the midst of the hurry. Several years ago I read a book called Building Healthy Minds by Stanley Greenspan about the development of the intellect in early childhood. I have never forgotten his term, "circles of interaction," for these moments between a caregiver and child when communication flows back and forth, with or without words. He wrote that these circles of interaction are important for brain development.

The Suzuki Method is based on the concept that we are educating our children from the cradle. Grammar, Geometry, History and music practice may feel more rigorous, but the youngest minds in my family are developing the fastest. I believe they may have the most to gain if Eric, Amy, Karina, Katie, Tommy, and Jack all find space in our lives for circles of interaction with them.